


Garters, Stockings and Arrows

by Selenay



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Barton's Bow & Arrows, Crossdressing Kink, Inspired by Fanart, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://dr-kara.tumblr.com/post/38028820243/part-2-haha-of-this">this piece of art</a> by Dr Kara.</p>
<p>As missions and days went, Phil concluded that this one was a clusterfuck of epic proportions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garters, Stockings and Arrows

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Dr Kara's artwork a few months ago and plotted merrily to write something for it, the first time I've ever been inspired by fanart to write something. Hopefully this comes close to that awesome and inspirational drawing.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Fahre for her beta-ing skills and her reassurance that I'd not committed any massive blunders in this.

Phil tested the ropes tying him to the chair and tried not to wince. They were definitely too tight to get out of, even if he'd managed to learn Clint's thumb trick. It looked like he was going to be stuck here until someone either mounted a rescue mission or decided to kill him. Given those options Phil preferred the latter: having to be rescued by his own team was just _embarrassing_.

Overall, as days and missions went, today had been a total clusterfuck of amazing proportions.

***

This portion of the mission hadn't originally been assigned to Phil. His participation had been strictly planning and observation, keeping tabs on the assets who had infiltrated the Red Ritz League, and staying well away from their party-central headquarters.

Between the silly name and their focus on holding the most debauched parties imaginable, Phil privately wondered how the Red Ritz League had found the time or brains to develop and distribute a recreational drug with the unfortunate side-effect of incurable telepathy in ten per cent of regular users. Then again, their parties were the perfect testing ground for a drug like that so maybe it shouldn't be that surprising.

It was the telepathy aspect that had shifted this investigation from the DEA to SHIELD. Nobody wanted the stuff on the streets for long and the DEA just didn't have the right kind of mind set for dealing with it. They were fine with Mexican drug cartels, a little more hazy on proto-supervillain organisations trying to raise enough money to challenge big guys like AIM or Hydra. The DEA also didn't know what to do with the unfortunates who had been driven mad from weeks of hearing every mind within a three mile radius. SHIELD, at least, had contact with telepathic mutants who could take those victims in and help them rather than locking them in institutions for the rest of their lives.

Clint and Natasha were already embedded with the League, Natasha as a dancer and Clint in security. They'd both been in for weeks and Phil's only contact with either of them had been the prearranged signals they'd left in the streets around the group's headquarters every couple of days. On one hand, it let him know they were both alright and hadn't been detected.

On the other hand, the last time Phil had seen Clint was the night they kissed for the first time. They'd stood outside Phil's apartment door kissing for what felt like hours, until the sound of a door slamming down the hallway had startled them apart. It had been new and terrifying and wonderful all at once but they hadn't been able to talk privately since.

Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to start something the night before a major op, knowing that they'd potentially be out of contact for months. But Phil had never been very good at making sensible decisions about his personal life and neither had Clint so they'd done it anyway.

The operation had been going smoothly, exactly the way Phil liked operations to go, until the morning Agent Marshall reported to medical with a horrific cold. Ordinarily a cold was something to be shrugged off. SHIELD agents didn't get to just leave a mission because they had a sniffle.

When the agent was supposed to be putting on a dress and infiltrating a certain type of party later that day, a streaming cold became a different matter. Agent Marshall wouldn't be fit for anything where his appearance mattered for more than pulling Santa's sleigh because his nose was now the size and colour of Rudolph's.

The only other agent who knew the cover identity well enough (mainly because he'd built it) and was close enough to Agent Marshall's size to fit the dress without much additional tailoring was Phil. The fact that he'd done this before and could walk in the four inch stilettos more gracefully than many of the female agents was just a bonus.

A bonus to who, Phil wasn't entirely sure. But the update that had been sent to Fury had stated it so there had to be a point there somewhere.

***

It wasn't that Phil objected in any kind of moral or ethical way to the concept of getting pretty and infiltrating a debauched party filled with depraved drug-pushing villains. If he did then at least four other operations he'd been on with SHIELD would have been a problem. The part where he had to get close enough to one of the top guys in the League - close enough to plant a tracker on his skin - didn't bother him much either. He didn't mind the dress or the heels, he'd mastered make-up years ago, and he was pleasantly surprised with the wig because someone had finally worked out that the Farrah Fawcett look didn't suit most men.

The part that Phil objected to was the cut of the dress. He would be writing a strongly worded email to Marshall when this was all over about the value of considering how a dress would be used and not just whether it flattered his ass.

It hadn't flattered Marshall's ass. Phil had checked.

It did flatter Phil's ass, if the wolf-whistles from the people in R and D were anything to go by.

Flattering Phil's ass was the only thing the dress did right.

The cut was tight, slinky, sexy...and completely impossible to hide a gun under. Even the slim pistol and thigh holster that had been designed for the op wouldn't work. The outline was impossible to disguise no matter where Phil tried to place it. He'd tried strapping it to the inside of his thigh, a trick he'd seen Natasha use a couple of times, but it had been so uncomfortable he'd ended up waddling as he walked if he lost concentration for a moment.

His purse would be checked as he entered the party, so concealing it in there was out, and it no longer mattered whether R and D had built it with materials that wouldn't be found by a metal detector. The gun couldn't be used.

In the end, R and D managed to find a slim knife with a blade made from something they assured Phil was both sharp and completely undetectable. It felt too thin to really be much use, even the hilt was uncomfortably narrow, but he'd been able to strap it to the inside of his thigh and still walk fairly naturally so he settled for it.

His email to Marshall would include some guidelines on weaponry and the safe concealing of, with specific reference to trying on the proposed outfit _with_ the proposed weaponry to check it would all work.

One tiny knife and a thin cable in his purse that could be used as a garrotte wasn't Phil's idea of properly armed, but it would have to do.

***

Phil didn't learn about the other problem with the dress until partway through his mission. He'd played his part perfectly, he thought, flirting with the right people and not breaking anyone's hand no matter how persistently they'd groped him. It had all been going smoothly and there was definitely some across-the-room attention and eye contact with his mark when everything abruptly went to pieces.

Someone knew him.

It was simple, a tiny thing that should never have happened. The kind of thing that wouldn't have happened if Agent Marshall hadn't backed out so late in the game and there had been time to recheck backgrounds to make sure Phil hadn't previously crossed paths with anyone at the party.

One of the Red Ritz League's guests had seen Phil playing a similar role in an op a few years ago. An op that had gone to hell due to factors outside Phil's control, but his cover had been blown in front of witnesses including Bradley Thompson. At the time Thompson had been a small player so he'd been allowed to escape and Phil hadn't thought about him again. Maybe Phil wouldn't have been recognised if this had been a different kind of mission.

Maybe he would. There was no way to tell.

The last time Thompson had seen him, Phil's wig had been a different shade of brown and the dress had been a different cut but it had been the same kind of party, the same basic disguise.

Phil saw Thompson at the same time as Thompson saw him. Their eyes met and held for barely a moment but it was long enough for Phil to see the moment of recognition: the eyes widening, the lips parting on a silent curse, and Thompson's expression turning from laughter to anger.

Despite the surging adrenaline making his heart race, Phil's hands stayed steady and his expression didn't change. He turned back to the man he'd been flirting with, a massive guy who'd brought Phil at least three glasses of champagne and only grabbed his butt twice, and smiled slyly. There was a slow blink in response and Phil wasn't sure whether it was an unexpected side effect of the smile or whether he'd just wasted fifteen minutes on an idiot.

"Can you excuse me for a moment?" he asked smoothly.

The guy blinked again and then smiled uncertainly. "Will you come back?"

Phil leaned in and patted his arm, handing off his half-full glass at the same time. "Of course I will. You can't get rid of me that easily."

His potential paramour seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding and saying, "OK."

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil could see Thompson talking to one of the black-suited guards stationed discreetly around the buzzing ballroom. Trying not to draw any more attention, Phil started weaving smoothly through the crowd. He didn't precisely hurry, that would be too obvious, but he wasn't sauntering either. There was a door just beside one of the buffet tables that would lead into a quiet corridor if the map Phil had memorised was right.

Trying to leave through the front entrance would be stupid at this point, he reasoned.

Phil reached the door and slipped through with no problems. The sound of music and loud conversation cut off abruptly as it closed. The corridor was carpeted in plain grey to match the walls and was obviously not a part of the building that any of the party guests should be in. If Phil's memory was right, though, there was a room further down with a window that would lead out onto a fire escape. It had been considered for a break-and-enter location early in the planning stages of the operation but the alarms were too good.

Setting off alarms on the way out didn't really matter now that he'd been spotted. Phil just needed to get out without blowing the cover of his remaining assets.

He reached down to rip the seams on his sexy, slinky skirt and that was when he discovered the other problem with the dress. He swore quietly. The seams that should have been flimsy, tearaway things felt like they'd been reinforced with steel. The silk of the skirt was also more solidly constructed than he'd expected. Phil tugged fruitlessly at the skirt hem a couple of times and cursed again. He couldn’t even reach the zipper up the back to take the thing off.

The slim, beautiful cut of the dress not only rendered his knife inaccessible, it was going to keep his pace down to a fast hobble.

Phil started hobbling.

A moment later he heard a door slam open and the shout as he was spotted. He hobbled faster but he didn't stand a chance against two guards wearing comfortable pants that allowed them to run.

One of the guards grabbed for his wig, which came away immediately. At least that was one part of the outfit that worked in his favour. The other guard caught his arm and Phil tried to shrug him off but the guy was too strong.

The stupid, fucking, idiotic skirt also made it impossible for Phil to kick anyone above ankle height and the guards were wearing steel-toed shoes so his heels did no damage to anyone.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Phil found himself trussed up and being marched (slowly, due to the damn skirt) to a massive hanger somewhere in the bowels of the Red Ritz League's headquarters.

***

It was pointless to test the ropes again but Phil did it anyway, wincing a little as the raw spots on his skin rubbed against the rough hemp.

His captors had cut away the ridiculous dress before they'd tied him up. They'd probably assumed it would be an extra humiliation, now that they knew he was a highly-ranked SHIELD agent.

Phil was just grateful that the offensive thing had been taken away. When this was all over he intended to find it, burn it, and send the ashes to R and D with some carefully worded guidelines about future dress designs for agents of any gender.

Sitting in the middle of a cold basement hanger in just stockings, garter belt and panties wasn't exactly comfortable for Phil but it could have been worse. They could have taken the panties, for a start.

They'd also left the shoes, probably because there wasn't much Phil could do with them when he was firmly tied up to a chair. Unfortunately they'd taken the knife. Not that he could have done anything with it, tied up as thoroughly as he was, but it would have been comforting to have it there.

Hopefully whoever eventually found him wouldn't have a camera. And wouldn't be Clint.

It was a little difficult to predict Clint's reaction to anything, but Phil wasn't sure he wanted Clint's first sight of him after a couple of months to be _this_.

One amazing, incredible kiss and a promise to see what happened after the mission didn't mean Clint would still be interested after seeing Phil in tattered lace underwear and high heels. That was more of a third date thing, to be honest.

Phil snorted quietly at the thought. He must be getting punchy if he was starting to think about third dates and when to reveal his sexy stilettos strut.

***

Several hours later, Phil was starting to reconsider the dress thing. Specifically, he still hated the dress with its ridiculous design and reinforced construction but the hanger was cold, the chair had a metal seat in its wooden frame, and lacy underwear wasn't providing any warmth at all.

At least that damn dress might have stopped him freezing his ass to the chair.

He was trying to clench and unclench the muscles in his legs to encourage blood flow and stave off cramping from the cold when the door at the far end of the basement opened. Three men entered, all wearing the identical black tactical suits that the Red Ritz League seemed to issue to all their security guards when they weren't mingling at parties. Phil narrowed his eyes a little as he watched them.

He couldn't make out faces clearly, they were too far away, but he definitely recognised the familiar way one of them walked and moved. The bow in his hand and the quiver hanging from his shoulder confirmed it and Phil sighed unhappily.

Having Clint rescue him would have been a little embarrassing, but not impossible to get past. Whatever was going to happen next promised to be much, much worse.

The two security guards moved to stand on either side of the door while Clint shrugged out of his jacket to reveal a purple sleeveless t-shirt. No arm guard, no glove, and the bow and quiver were definitely not his because SHIELD had carefully not included archery in his cover identity's supposed skill set.

Phil's stomach sank a little because this was definitely not good.

Clint tested the string and adjusted something on the riser. He slung the quiver over his back and rolled his shoulders a couple of times. One of the guards said something too quietly for Phil to hear and Clint nodded, his entire body almost vibrating tension. Every movement as Clint slid out an arrow and nocked it seemed much slower than normal, as though time was expanding and moving at strange speeds. Phil didn't know whether it was an illusion or whether Clint was deliberately stalling. Whichever it was, Phil held his breath and, though he was too far away to see Clint's features, kept his eyes on Clint's face anyway. At this range, there was almost no chance Clint would miss.

Clint drew the string back, held it for either a moment or half a lifetime, and released. The arrow flew through the air and embedded in the back of the chair so close to Phil's ribs he could feel the cold metal of the shaft against his skin.

If his arms hadn't been pulled back and tied behind the chair, Phil would have been skewered. He tried to feel grateful for the aches in his shoulders because the exposed wooden surfaces gave Clint something to aim for that wasn't Phil's body.

Another arrow flew, thunking into the wooden chair back on the other side of Phil's chest. His lungs were burning and he had to concentrate to let the air out slowly instead of in an explosive sigh of relief.

Phil kept his eyes on Clint, watching for any sign of what he might do next. There would be only so long he could stall for and Phil didn't know what the next plan would be.

Clint stamped his right foot, as though trying to shake feeling back into the leg, and Phil barely had time to move his right leg before an arrow clanged off the metal seat a couple of centimetres from his thigh. Another arrow followed, driving into the wooden frame so close to his knee that Phil felt a sharp scratch and then a warm dribble of blood start to slide down his calf.

Two more arrows joined the ones bracketing his chest and somehow Clint also managed to get one arrow into the seat frame just below Phil's left thigh. It shouldn't even have been possible to make an arrow's flight path curve like that.

One of the guards said something sharply, probably asking Clint why he kept missing. Clint didn't reply but Phil could read his body language even from this distance. The way Clint shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head, as though loosening up muscles, betrayed the nervous tension more clearly than words could.

They were running out of time. The guards knew what Clint was doing and they weren't going to allow it for much longer.

This time the arrow that thudded into the chair back grazed the skin over Phil's ribs and he felt blood start to trick down his side. He had to grit his teeth so he didn't flinch or wince because even if he was too far to see Clint clearly, Clint's eyesight was much sharper. He'd see any fear on Phil's face so keeping a neutral, bland expression became Phil's main focus.

Another arrow flew, this time landing just beside Phil's right stiletto heel. There was a loud shout and one of the guards reached for his gun but he didn't have time to do more.

Clint spun round, an arrow already nocked and drawn, and a moment later the guard was staring down at the arrow that had driven straight through his hand and into his stomach. His hand was still pinned to his body when he slowly toppled to the ground.

The other goon made an abortive move to back up his friend, but Clint was faster. His fingers flew as he pulled out his last arrow, nocked, and shot the guard in the throat.

There was a muffled thump as the guard fell to the floor and all the tension seemed to bleed out of Clint at once. His shoulders slumped, he let the bow drop from his grip, and he stared silently at the floor for a minute. Phil knew SHIELD hadn't issued Clint with any kind of earpiece, but he wasn't completely surprised when Clint suddenly put a hand to his ear and listened intently.

"Are you OK?" Clint asked shouted to Phil.

He shrugged. "Nothing a few Band-Aids won't fix."

Clint listened to his earpiece for another moment before starting to jog across the hanger toward Phil. As he drew closer, Phil could see Clint's eyes roaming over him and there was a faint hint of a guilty frown when Clint saw the drying blood trails. He slowed and stopped a few feet away and there was a long pause.

"Hi," Clint said eventually, a hint of something hesitant in his voice.

"Hi," Phil said, trying to sound casual.

Clint cocked his head. "You know, when I heard they'd caught you I wasn't sure what to expect. You dressed...uh...like that, wasn't really it."

Phil sighed. "Agent Marshall caught a cold. I took his place."

"Huh." Clint didn't move. "You've done this often?"

"A few times."

"I meant the drag thing."

Phil forced his lips into something resembling a smile. "A few times."

"Oh." Clint's expression was unreadable. "I didn't know that."

"The last time was when you were on that op in Prague. The other times were before you joined."

"Yeah, I definitely would have remembered if I'd been around for it."

"Are we safe here?"

"Safer than out there, probably. SHIELD's storming the barricades right now according to Natasha."

Clint took a step forward and this time there was something heated in his expression when his eyes passed over Phil's body. No guilt, just something that made shivers run down Phil's spine. Despite the cold air of the hanger, Phil's skin suddenly felt hot and too tight.

He was definitely not putting this bit into the mission report.

Clint's tongue flicked out to wet his lips and Phil watched him swallowed convulsively. He wanted to ask what Clint was thinking about but that wasn't the kind of relationship they had yet. They'd barely even agreed that there was a relationship before this mission started.

"So," Clint said slowly, "am I going to hell for thinking this is maybe one of the hottest things I've ever seen?"

Phil blinked. "What?"

"I mean, yeah the arrows are kind of a problem. Let's not do that again. But the rest of it?" Clint gestured vaguely, his gaze locking with Phil's. "Just so you know, it was very distracting and you've got no idea how close you came to getting punctured a couple of times."

"Is this a thing for you, Barton?"

Clint's laughter was a harsh, stressed thing. "A kink? Not until today."

Both of Phil's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You look great in suits, obviously," Clint said quickly. "I've always had a thing for a guy in a nice suit. And I'd like to revisit the whole casual look you were doing the last time I saw you, I didn't really get to see that properly. Mostly because you were kissing me-"

"You kissed me."

"Pretty sure it was a mutual participation event, sir," Clint said with a small smirk. "Phil. Otherwise I wouldn't have spent the last two months thinking about it and hoping I'd get to do it again."

Phil sucked in a quick breath and Clint's smirk widened into a proper smile, the kind that made his eyes light up and the skin around them crinkle. Clint stepped closer and started to lean down, his eyes intent on Phil's lips.

An arrow poked Clint in the chest, one of the ones sitting against Phil's ribs, and Clint's soft puff of laughter made Phil smile.

"Guess I should get these out of the way," he said, resting a hand on the offending arrow.

"I'd appreciate it," Phil said as blandly as he could.

The look Clint gave him didn't make it easy to stay neutral and impassive. Phil suspected that was deliberate.

Clint's fingers brushing lightly against Phil's skin as he started to pry arrows out of the chair was probably deliberate as well. It felt good, much better than such fleeting contact should, and Phil wished there was enough slack in his bonds to be able to lean into Clint's touch. 

Pulling out some of the arrows embedded in the seat frame and chair legs gave Clint an excuse to caress Phil's leg, the rough calluses on his hand catching on the sheer stockings.

"Shit," Clint said as prodded gently at Phil's calf, where the dried blood was making the stocking stick to his skin. "Didn't see that one."

Phil shrugged, or tried to. His shoulders had locked up completely after hours twisted into an uncomfortable position. "Don't worry, I don't think we were going to be able to reuse them anyway."

Clint's eyes widened and there was a hint of pink high on his cheeks. Phil parsed what he'd said and hoped he wasn't flushing quite as bright as he felt.

"I meant, SHIELD won't be able to use them again...so..." he trailed off slowly. "You were serious about that?"

Another arrow came free and Clint stood up, clutching the bundle in a grip so tight his fingers went white.

"Pretty much," he said after a long pause. "I've never thought about this before - you, like that, before - but I don't think I can unthink it now."

"Oh."

Clint shrugged casually, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice when he said, "Can I kiss you?"

"Here?"

"We're safe," Clint said quickly. "Natasha says they're just cleaning up the last few idiots who've locked themselves into a conference room. Then they'll get us out of here. We've got time."

"Should I ask why you have a SHIELD comm?"

"Probably not, boss."

It was definitely inappropriate, Phil should be ordering Clint to untie him and start working to open the door, but there was a look in Clint's face that Phil couldn't resist. He nodded jerkily and Clint grinned.

Phil expected Clint to lean down for the kiss, maybe keep it soft and gentle because this was all a little odd and they were in the bowels of a supervillain HQ.

He wasn't prepared for Clint stepping between his legs and sitting sideways on his thigh, cupping his jaw and leaning in for a slow, thorough kiss. Phil's mouth opened as he sighed into it and Clint didn't hesitate, his tongue swept in and he kissed as though he was claiming Phil. As though Clint was trying to memorise this moment and remind Phil why they'd been dancing around the start of something two months ago.

Phil didn't need reminding but he appreciated the gesture. He closed his eyes and lost himself in it, until a sharp pain down his arms brought him out of the lust haze.

He'd tried to lift his arms so he could pull Clint closer but all that did was set off cramping from the long hours tied up. Clint jerked back, a frown forming between his brows.

"Are you-?" Clint asked.

Phil winced as all the muscles in his shoulders seemed to spasm at once. "I've been here a while."

Clint's eyes widened and he swore, dropping the arrows with a clatter in his haste to stand and move behind Phil so he could work on the ropes. "Shit, Phil, sorry."

It took a couple of minutes to get the ropes loosened and Phil gasped when his hands were suddenly free and tingling painfully. Clint was there immediately, his warm hands massaging Phil's shoulders and arms to ease away the worst of the pain. This was something new, helping each other through injuries that weren't life-threatening or even particularly debilitating. Phil had given field aid for more than a few of Clint's knife wounds and gunshots, but it had always been about saving a life or a limb.

Never about providing comfort.

Phil felt the cramps start to ease away under Clint's fingers and Clint leaned into his work a little, his breath warm against Phil's hair. Whatever was going on up on the main building couldn't be heard down here and Phil could almost forget that somewhere out there was an army of SHIELD agents and some deeply foolish wannabe supervillains.

"Better?" Clint asked quietly.

"I'll be even better when I'm out of here and wearing something a little warmer," Phil said.

Clint's hands stilled, resting on Phil's shoulders lightly. "You must be freezing."

Phil shrugged, feeling the muscles pull but not hurt this time. "I've been colder."

Phil's skin felt chilled when Clint dropped his hands and moved to stand in front of him. He immediately missed the touch. Clint shifted nervously on his feet a couple of times, almost as though he was...nervous?

Shy?

"So you know, before we leave and everything goes crazy. I'm not saying you have to or that it's any kind of deal-breaker," Clint said awkwardly, "but so you know...if you ever want to dress up. Or anything. I wouldn't mind. You know."

Phil tilted his head thoughtfully. "Are you asking me to wear something like this outside of a mission?"

"Maybe?" Clint smiled hopefully. "At home, obviously. Your home, not the Tower. Unless we've got the doors locked and JARVIS completely disabled."

"I have one condition."

"Only one?"

"Only one." Phil paused. "Maybe two."

Clint squared his shoulders and stood up straight. "Hit me with them."

"Number one, you help me out of this room before I freeze to the chair," Phil said with a small smile. "And you give me the pants off one of the men you killed."

Given the choice between wearing a dead man's clothes or appearing in front of people who were supposed to respect him wearing panties and torn stockings, Phil would pick the dead man's pants every time.

"I can do that." Clint grinned. "Next?"

Phil gestured and Clint, looking questioning, stepped closer so Phil could take his hand and trace the calluses. Clint's fingers were red and inflamed where the bow string had scraped along them and Phil had to fight the urge to kiss them. "Your shooting glove. And arm guard."

Clint's eyebrows rose. "Seriously? That's your kink?"

"I wouldn't call it that exactly," Phil hedged. "More...a curiosity."

"Huh." Clint looked thoughtful for a moment before he smiled. "OK, I can do that. Ready to work on the first part?"

Phil had to let Clint help him to his feet and then he had to drape his arm across Clint's shoulders to stay upright. Clint held him tightly around the waist and they slowly hobbled across the huge room to the door.

"My shooting glove," Clint said thoughtfully when they were halfway to the door.

"Women's underwear," Phil countered.

"Isn't exchanging kinks more of a third date thing?" Clint asked. "Seems a bit weird talking about it before we've even had sex."

Phil couldn't quite suppress his snort of laughter at how closely Clint's words mirrored his earlier thoughts. "I don't think anything about this relationship will be normal."

"Sounds good to me."

They exchanged grins and Clint might, possibly, have tried to plant a kiss on Phil's jaw but there was a loud clang on the door at that moment. By the time Natasha and three agents broke through, Phil was leaning against a wall while he buttoned a slightly blood-stained pair of pants and Clint was standing near enough to catch him if he fell but not inappropriately close. It all looked completely innocent and Phil kept his bland mask in place during the drive back to headquarters despite the heated glances Clint kept sending him.

Clint made good on his promise of the shooting glove and his arm guard on their second date.

Phil saved his part of the bargain for their two month anniversary and the stockings couldn't be reused after that either.


End file.
